


The Music Box

by SentientBentley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Scene: The Bandstand (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentientBentley/pseuds/SentientBentley
Summary: After the bandstand, Crowley and Aziraphale reflect on how they feel as time runs out to avert the Apocalypse.Crowley contemplates getting Aziraphale a gift to show him what he means to him, and Aziraphale is torn between running away with Crowley and his duty to Heaven.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	The Music Box

**Author's Note:**

> This is using show canon to demonstrate the battle in Aziraphale's mind between adhering to his side, and being with Crowley. It takes place between the bandstand scene and when Aziraphale talks to Gabriel in the park.

Crowley couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. The bandstand in St. James’ Park disappeared behind him as he stormed off, thoughts swirling much like the looming clouds, anger brimming with the weight of the angel’s words.

_It’s over._

The sting of it. This was not a feeling he was used to. The angel had rejected him dozens of times over the 6,000 years...but not like this. At most, he would politely decline, and Crowley would find another way to ask him. But Aziraphale had never declared their arrangement to be ‘over’, had never given up on Crowley. And now he had, and it was too late. They were running out of time.

He realised he was running. Sprinting, even. It wasn’t like him to run from anything any more than it was like the angel to have a meltdown; but here Crowley was, getting as far away as he could as quickly as he could. He hadn’t even thought to saunter. Hot tears--also not a common occurrence--boiled beneath his eyes. He didn’t even bother to reach under his sunglasses to wipe them away.

_This is worse than any punishment Beelzebub could dole out._

He knew what had come over the angel, but couldn’t accept it. They were both bundles of frayed nerves at this point in the game, because really….they’d realised they didn’t have a plan. They’d run out of options.

_He wants to give up on me? Well, too bad, because I’m not giving up on him._

He kept a brisk pace back to his car. He watched the sun descend over the horizon, a golden sliver--A halo? No Satan, not now--over the park. Nearby he noticed a couple embracing on their walk. He couldn’t stop himself from halting and frowning at them. The couple jumped at the scary-looking man in glasses glaring at them, muttering nervously to themselves and making a beeline to the bridge.

_Mother, if that’s you, this isn’t funny._

He drove to the mall by Piccadilly Circus. He had an idea that, while it might not change Aziraphale’s mind, would at least remind him of what they could have together. What he would be missing out on if he didn’t join Crowley on Alpha Centauri. He didn’t have much time, but it was the least he could do to show the angel how he felt.

_Not that I haven’t already shown him **how many** times..._

He hated antique shops. He dealt with Aziraphale’s dusty, messy bookshop because he knew how important it was to the angel; that it was like a home for him, because Heaven was anything but. But all the others made him about physically ill with the way they smelled. The one he found in Piccadilly Circus was no different. He stood out, all slick rock and roll against the musty collectibles. If he wanted to cough like this, he would’ve pulled out a cigarette. Well, maybe it would cover the store’s smell--

“No smoking”, said the old lady behind the counter, glancing up from what was no doubt one of those trashy romance novels, a wrinkled hand gesturing toward a faded sign in the window. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to light his cigarette.

“So sorry”, he said with the most gentlemanly grin he could muster in such a situation. “Didn’t see the sign…” More like, had _chosen not to_ see it.

“Well, perhaps you would have if you’d taken your sunglasses off”.

_Don’t. Not now. Keep it together..._

His smile faded, but he kept his cool. “Uh, look, I was wondering if you had any music boxes…?”

“We have plenty--take a look over there”. The old woman went back to reading her romance novel.

_Yuck. Everything about this is yuck...ngk._

But he had already devoted energy to the idea, and he didn’t want to give up now. He was good at last-minute, zany ideas....improvisation. Apparently, just not for averting the Apocalypse.

_Don’t worry. Just focus on getting the angel to run away with you...then you can be gone before they find you._

He perused the music box assortment; lots of ballerinas and cute little animals. But then he saw it, and it couldn’t have been more perfect: A beautiful mahogany color, an angel figurine inside; raised gold sections on the outside for each of the twelve zodiac signs; a lid with stars on the underside. He didn’t care what the existing song was, or if it worked properly; he could miracle that. Truth was, he could miracle the whole thing; but the angel would notice, and the gesture would seem too easy, too quick.

He held the music box in his hand, sliding his fingers over the zodiac pieces. It was a wooden box, but the angel and the zodiac parts were authentic gold. He almost cried again, thinking of how much Aziraphale would love it.

“This for someone special?” the old woman asked as he paid, raising an eyebrow.

_So now you’re curious._

“Well, yeah”. He smiled proudly. “Someone who deserves the stars, really”.

Back at his flat, he miracled the music box to work properly, watching the angel figurine twist and twirl before him; a golden ballerina amongst the jewel-encrusted zodiac. What song to play? He’d treasured so many songs over the years that reminded him of Aziraphale; he thought of one in particular that he’d always come back to.

_This has to be perfect. If he won’t listen to me, then maybe a gift will inspire him...We’ve gotten each other gifts before, but...not with this meaning...and not with the consequences so dire._

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh dear, oh, dear, oh dear…” the angel was fretting. “What have I done? I didn’t--” hot tears were streaming down his face now, his lip trembling. “I didn’t mean any of that…”. Crowley had just left. Almost ran. Didn’t even saunter. Aziraphale had wanted him to stay, had said that...but then he had ruined it for himself. His nerves had been spiking, and he was disappointed with himself even before having said those things.

_Even if I knew where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you._

He scared himself because he knew that deep down, he had meant that. It wasn’t just that he was strategic enough to not tell Crowley; it was the fact that he couldn’t stray from his side. He didn’t know how. And, well, he internally huffed, this had been _Crowley’s_ mix-up. He was having to clean up _his_ mess. Did the demon expect some sort of advantage? Aziraphale already knew more than he did. Crowley didn’t have the book, because Crowley (at least, he claimed) didn’t read.

_Well, you simpleton. What did you expect...but I…I need you…_

He couldn’t stay mad at him. He started to cry again, realising he couldn’t stay in the park much longer. It was getting dark. He noticed the stars were slowly making themselves known, a tapestry across the purple sky. The stars...Crowley had created the stars...the tears wouldn’t stop. He ran out of the park, wiping them away.

_I wouldn’t even be looking at this gorgeous sky above if it weren’t for you._

If he could just sit down in his shop with some cocoa, he would be able to relax and think. Perhaps he could talk to Gabriel and convince him that there needn’t be a war. He needed a plan, with what little time he had left before the angels assembled for war.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale always felt at home in the bookshop. He could curate and collect any topics he wanted to--whether Heaven wanted him to or not--and make a mess all his own. All this in the name of his Earth assignment, which they wouldn’t question, because, well, he was here...and for all they knew, thwarting the wiles of the demon Crowley. The mess also gave him comfort away from the pristine environment of Heaven.

But now, something had changed...what was it?

He sensed something had been...added? Indeed, an energy was there that hadn’t been there before. Something reminding him of Crowley. He whirled around to face the couch, secretly hoping it would be Crowley himself.  
He had rehearsed a whole apology in his head. But in his nervousness, it started unraveling into a bumbling string of words before he could even get it out: _I didn’t mean it, you were right, we can go off together...I don’t want you to leave._

It wasn’t Crowley on the couch.

His heart sank, but he was rather curious: On the couch instead was a gorgeous mahogany vintage object with gleaming gold details. He saw the lid open itself, revealing a golden angel figurine in the center.

He suspected Crowley was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what.

 _But he left. Is this a joke..? Or a trap from someone who’s found out about us?_ <.p>

He felt himself sweating, wringing his hands again; yet, he couldn’t detect anyone in the bookshop. He hadn’t even begun to approach the thing when the switch turned on its own, the golden angel twirling in a hypnotic dance. As Aziraphale stepped closer, he recognised each of the pictures on the gold sections--the twelve signs of the zodiac.

He jumped back in alarm as a song began to play: 

> Sometimes I feel so happy  
>  Sometimes I feel so sad  
>  Sometimes I feel so happy  
>  But mostly you just make me mad  
>  Baby, you just make me mad  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
>  Thought of you as my mountaintop  
>  Thought of you as my peak  
>  Thought of you as everything  
>  I've had, but couldn't keep  
>  I've had, but couldn't keep  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
>  If I could make the world as pure  
>  And strange as what I see  
>  I'd put you in a mirror  
>  I put in front of me  
>  I put in front of me  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
>  Linger on your pale blue eyes  
> 

Aziraphale didn’t know the song (of course it was The Velvet Underground’s _Pale Blue Eyes_ , but he hadn’t listened to it as he thought it was bebop), but he _knew_ exactly what was being said; could _feel_ the meaning behind his eyes, taste it on his tongue. It was _freedom_ , freedom with Crowley, that he had just rejected because he was scared.

_You coward, he yelled at himself. Look what you’ve done--_

And he couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. If he had been distraught before, he was a veritable mess now. He began full-on sobbing, falling to his knees before the couch, his chest heaving, the treasure he had held inside for so long now breaking him. _I know that he loves me. He would do anything for me...but I--I don’t want to put him in danger...I don’t have a choice but to do what I’m told...I--I’m out of options…_

He picked up the music box, letting it play over and over, and laid down on the couch, his body continuing to be wracked by sobs.

He thought he saw the light coming through the window shiver and turn to moonlight, rippling into the room like a satin blanket.

Then a voice that made him feel as warm:

_Angel._

A voice that wasn’t there…but in his mind.  
  


>   
>  _C--Crowley..?_
> 
> **Did you get my gift?**
> 
> _Y--yes…_  
>  **Did it remind you of me?**
> 
> _So much…_
> 
> **I don’t want you to forget who I am, angel, or what we could have. I made the stars. I made Alpha Centauri. And I would make all of them again, for you. For Satan’s sake, I would make my own bloody galaxy for you.**
> 
> _I know…_
> 
> **So come with me. You know I’d do anything for you. And I’ll keep telling you that, for as long as it takes.**
> 
> _B-b-b- I c-c-c---_
> 
> **You can. But we’re running out of time…**
> 
> _C--Crowley?_
> 
> **Yes, angel?**
> 
> _Will they destroy us?_
> 
> **They can try. But I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.**
> 
> _….Crowley, I--I..._
> 
> \--Silence--
> 
> _Crowley? Come back...I **need** you... _  
> 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

These are a few of my favourite things, the music box was now singing, echoing as if in a dream, sunlight pouring through the window.

 _Come on, Aziraphale._ Gabriel’s grating voice cut through the carefree mood.

_We need you to fight.  
  
Your flaming sword...you didn't lose that? You’re gonna need it.  
  
I mean, you’re on our side. Aren’t you? The clock is ticking, Aziraphale. Don’t let us down._

_Brown paper packages tied up with strings..._

Aziraphale opened his eyes. Ugh, what an awful dream. But had Crowley been a dream, too? He wasn’t sure.

Regardless, the music box was silent now.

He felt awful. This tug-of-war in his mind was sapping his strength. He did not have time to be emotional any longer, though. As much as he wanted to run away with Crowley, his main goal now should be convincing his side to stop the war--despite what Gabriel had said. If he could do that first, Heaven could busy themselves with something else maybe, and leave them alone.  
He would need to meet Gabriel and try to convince him that there didn’t have to be a war. And if he couldn’t….well, then he’d need to go to a Higher Authority. That would do it.

He was just about to leave the bookshop when the music box suddenly cranked back to life, repeating the section of the song from Heaven’s favourite musical:

>   
>  _When I'm feeling sad_  
>  I simply remember my favourite things  
>  And then I don't feel so bad.

He paused to stare at the music box incredulously for a minute, narrowing his eyes, feeling like he wanted to cry again. But then he shook his head, as if still awakening from a dream, and shut the door behind him.


End file.
